Post-Communist Russia Plumbs Its Soul, in Vain, for New Vision

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Russia is in search of a ''national idea'' that can define its essence and inspire its citizens. But so far the struggle for a post-Soviet identity has been a grandiose exercise in conflict and confusion.

Russia's new national anthem has no words because nobody can agree on what it should say. Politicians are still squabbling over its tricolor flag. A Government commission expressly set up last summer to develop a ''national idea'' came up empty-handed.

The country's unsettled mood is best expressed by a series of provocative questions that mysteriously began appearing on billboards and trolley buses last year: ''What's going on?'' ''How much more can we take?'' and, especially unnerving, ''How will it all end?''

It turned out the questions were advertisements for a magazine promotion, but by then they had already led to a nationwide debate and been denounced by irate politicians, who apparently feared they were hitting too close to the mark.

Disputes over the nature of the Russian soul have dominated Russian life for centuries. Countless bottles of vodka have been drained as Russian intellectuals debated the identity of a nation that extends from Europe to Asia, embraces hundreds of nationalities and has endured war, famine and the self-induced wounds of despotism.

But the question of Russia's national purpose has acquired a fresh urgency as the nation struggles to redefine itself after the collapse of the Soviet empire, which provided so much of its identity and mission for this century.

The Yeltsin Government would like to have a concept, slogan or sound bite to mobilize the public and counter the Communists, who while a minority at least have an ideology.

But if the Kremlin has a compelling vision of what lies at the end of Russia's long, hard road from socialism, it has not convinced ordinary Russians.

The task has proved so elusive that a commission President Boris N. Yeltsin created last year to produce the ''national idea'' soon became a national joke. Georgi Satarov, the panel's chairman and a Yeltsin aide, sought to justify the commission's failure to articulate an idea by echoing the new-age mantra that the journey is the destination.

As Mr. Satarov put it in August, ''It is not just the national idea which is important, but also the process of finding it.''

This is not to say to say that Russia is without a rough sense of direction. Few expect Russia to go back to the old Soviet days of a planned economy, repression and a one-party Communist state.

The Russian Orthodox Church has reemerged as a power in Russian society and a semi-official organization. Nationalism and Slavic pride are important factors in the nation's political life.

But none of this seems to add up to a vision for the new Russian state. Religion and ethnicity are not a sufficient foundation because Russia has 20 ethnic republics dominated by Tatars, Muslims and others.

Nationalism only goes so far. Russia used to find glory in ruling a vast empire and dominating its neighbors. But Russian imperialism is not only politically incorrect, it is beyond the means of the financially troubled state.

And the Yeltsin Government's pro-capitalist economic views are too murky to serve as a rallying cry.

Boris Y. Nemtsov, Mr. Yeltsin's reform-minded deputy, has called for a crusade to build a ''people's capitalism'' and break the grip of the small clique of bankers and financiers on the Russian economy. For a while, pundits speculated that this crusade might become the long-sought national idea.

But Mr. Yeltsin has shuffled personnel and policies so much -- like his abrupt dismissal of the Cabinet last week -- that nobody is quite sure whether he is determined to challenge the oligarchy or protect it. And since everyone from reformers to corrupt businessmen claim they are building ''capitalism'' the term has almost lost its meaning.

''Ordinary Russians do not understand what it means,'' said Tatyana N. Tolstaya, one of Russia's most notable contemporary writers. ''What they see are the rich seizing power. They have a fatalistic approach and hate everyone in power.''

The lack of a unifying vision and the decentralization of power toward Russia's far-flung regions have eroded any sense of common identity.

According to a recent study by Jerry F. Hough of Duke University, the number of young ethnic Russians who think of Russia as their motherland is declining. A growing, though still not dominant, group now defines a province or local region as its homeland.

In the absence of a clear national vision, much of the struggle over Russia's purpose has been fought over heraldry, banners and monuments.

According to Russia's Constitution, the nation's anthem, symbol and flag must be approved by the Parliament. But the Communists who dominate the Parliament do not want Russia's white, blue and red flag. They do not want the new anthem with its music by Glinka. And they do not want the two-headed eagle, which hails from Russia's pre-revolutionary past. They want the old Soviet anthem, the red flag and the hammer and sickle.

Even though the symbols of the new Russian state have never received the legislature's blessing, the Yeltsin Government uses them anyway, as do many Russians.

Not that they do not require some instruction. When Moscow celebrated its 850th anniversary last September, the police went around rehanging some of the Russian flags that bedecked the city. Some Muscovites, unaware that the white stripe is supposed to be at the top, had hung the flag upside down.

Even the authorities have made gross mistakes. When the Central Bank first printed the 500,000-ruble note depicting the ancient Solovetsky monastery on an island in the northern White Sea, it showed the monastery without crosses and cupolas, as it was during Soviet times when it served as one of Stalin's most notorious prisons. Instead of celebrating religion, Russia's most important financial institution inadvertently commemorated the Gulag.

Since nobody can agree on what the new symbols should be, it is hardly surprising that Russians cannot agree on what to do with the old ones.

Lenin's embalmed body remains on display in Red Square because Russians cannot decide whether the founder of the Soviet state should be removed from his place of honor and buried. Russians did, however, rebuff a proposal by the grandson of one of the former Communist leaders to take Lenin's corpse on a world tour and use it to make a quick buck.

Virtually every city and town has a statue to Lenin. It has been easier to leave them in place than to fight over whether they should be taken down.

And when Soviet symbols have been removed, the authorities have sometimes been loath to destroy them. One of the most vivid images of the fall of the Soviet state came when a giant crane rumbled to the entrance of the K.G.B. headquarters and hauled away the statue of Feliks Dzerzhinsky, the first head of the Soviet secret police. That statue, however, was not destroyed. It was moved to a less conspicuous location near Gorky Park.

Russia has a new Independence Day -- June 12 -- but it lacks the patriotic fervor of the Fourth of July in the United States or Bastille Day in France. It commemorates the day Russia declared itself a sovereign state, an act that hastened the disintegration of the Soviet Union, which most Russians deeply regret. For Russians, it is simply a day off.

In Soviet times, Russians commemorated the Bolshevik Revolution on Nov. 7 and 8. That holiday still exists, although now it lasts only one day and has been renamed a ''Day of Reconciliation and Consent.''

Undeterred by the politicians' failure to define a national vision, Russian newspapers have jumped into the fray.

Last year, Rossiskaya Gazeta, a Government-owned newspaper, awarded an official from Vologda, a town north of Moscow, a prize of five million rubles (about $830) for recommending that the national idea be found in ''the concern for the Fatherland'' and the rejection of the ''money-oriented mentality of the West.''

Nezavisimaya Gazeta, a paper owned by Boris Berezovksy, an influential tycoon, was more cynical and closer to the hearts of many Russians. Its editor, Vitaly Tretyakov, wrote: ''For some it is, 'Get rich!' For others, 'Survive!' For many the two slogans are united -- 'Get rich to survive!' ''

While self-conscious efforts to frame a national idea have failed, some less serious campaigns, like the magazine promotion by the Kommersant publishing house, have succeeded in capturing the nation's anxiety. The disturbing questions -- such as ''Who's in charge?'' ''What's about the money?'' ''Who's the boss?'' ''How will it all end?'' -- appeared without warning in public places and were broadcast on television. The plan was to follow up with a later series of advertisements telling Russians the answers could be found in Kommersant's line of news magazines.

The politicians, who apparently felt that the debate over Russia's future should be framed in anodyne platitudes rather than baffling questions, were not amused.

In Moscow, Mayor Yuri Luzhkov would not allow the questions to be splashed across the city's trolley buses until his aides were assured that they were not part of a campaign to undermine his power.

The city of Novosibirsk pressed to have the questions taken down. A billboard asking ''Who's the boss?,'' posted near the Novosibirsk regional council, was soon removed.

Nikita Golovanov, the 45-year advertising executive who designed the magazine campaign, said the uproar was understandable.

''It was kind of a hooligan idea, but in terms of people's feelings it hit the mark,'' he said. ''This is what people talk about most -- that in the current situation you can expect just about anything. There could be a putsch. And nobody knows which financial powers are really behind a company.''

''So when people see questions like 'Who is in charge?' they find it very disturbing,'' he said. ''And you can imagine the reaction of people in power who themselves do not know the answer.''

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